It
was an example to me, and I fancy it might be to many others, to see
how immediately Miss Matty set about the retrenchment which she knew
to be right under her altered circumstances. While she went down to
speak to Martha, and break the intelligence to her, I stole out with
my letter to the Aga Jenkyns, and went to the signor's lodgings to
obtain the exact address. I bound the signora to secrecy; and indeed
her military manners had a degree of shortness and reserve in them
which made her always say as little as possible, except when under
the pressure of strong excitement. Moreover (which made my secret
doubly sure), the signor was now so far recovered as to be looking
forward to travelling and conjuring again in the space of a few days,
when he, his wife, and little Phoebe would leave Cranford. Indeed, I
found him looking over a great black and red placard, in which the
Signor Brunoni's accomplishments were set forth, and to which only
the name of the town where he would next display them was wanting. He
and his wife were so much absorbed in deciding where the red
letters would come in with most effect (it might have been the Rubric
for that matter), that it was some time before I could get my
question asked privately, and not before I had given several
decisions, the which I questioned afterwards with equal wisdom of
sincerity as soon as the signor threw in his doubts and reasons on
the important subject. At last I got the address, spelt by sound,
and very queer it looked. I dropped it in the post on my way home,
and then for a minute I stood looking at the wooden pane with a
gaping slit which divided me from the letter but a moment ago in my
hand. It was gone from me like life, never to be recalled. It would
get tossed about on the sea, and stained with sea-waves perhaps, and
be carried among palm-trees, and scented with all tropical fragrance;
the little piece of paper, but an hour ago so familiar and
commonplace, had set out on its race to the strange wild countries
beyond the Ganges! But I could not afford to lose much time on this
speculation. I hastened home, that Miss Matty might not miss me. Martha
opened the door to me, her face swollen with crying. As soon
as she saw me she burst out afresh, and taking hold of my arm she
pulled me in, and banged the door to, in order to ask me if indeed it
was all true that Miss Matty had been saying.

Posting
the letter

'I'll
never leave her! No; I won't. I telled her so, and said I could not
think how she could find in her heart to give me warning. I could
not have had the face to do it, if I'd been her. I might ha' been
just as good for nothing as Mrs Fitz-Adam's Rosy, who struck for
wages after living seven years and a half in one place. I said I was
not one to go and serve Mammon at that rate; that I knew when I'd got
a good missus, if she didn't know when she'd got a good servant' —

'But,
Martha,' said I, cutting in while she wiped her eyes.

'Don't,
'but Martha' me,' she replied to my deprecatory tone.

'Listen
to reason' —

'I'll
not listen to reason,' she said, now in full possession of her voice,
which had been rather choked with sobbing. 'Reason always means what
someone else has got to say. Now I think what I've got to say is
good enough reason; but reason or not, I'll say it, and I'll stick to
it. I've money in the Savings Bank, and I've a good stock of
clothes, and I'm not going to leave Miss Matty. No, not if she gives
me warning every hour in the day!'

Don't
'but Martha' me

She
put her arms akimbo, as much as to say she defied me; and, indeed, I
could hardly tell how to begin to remonstrate with her, so much did I
feel that Miss Matty, in her increasing infirmity, needed the
attendance of this kind and faithful woman.

'Well'
— said I at last.

'I'm
thankful you begin with 'well!' If you'd have begun with 'but,' as
you did afore, I'd not ha' listened to you. Now you may go on.'

'I
know you would be a great loss to Miss Matty, Martha' —

'I
telled her so. A loss she'd never cease to be sorry for,' broke in
Martha triumphantly.

'Still,
she will have so little — so very little — to live upon, that I
don't see just now how she could find you food — she will even be
pressed for her own. I tell you this, Martha, because I feel you are
like a friend to dear Miss Matty, but you know she might not like to
have it spoken about.'

Apparently
this was even a blacker view of the subject than Miss Matty had
presented to her, for Martha just sat down on the first chair that
came to hand, and cried out loud (we had been standing in the
kitchen).

At
last she put her apron down, and looking me earnestly in the face,
asked, 'Was that the reason Miss Matty wouldn't order a pudding
to-day? She said she had no great fancy for sweet things, and you
and she would just have a mutton chop. But I'll be up to her. Never
you tell, but I'll make her a pudding, and a pudding she'll like,
too, and I'll pay for it myself; so mind you see she eats it. Many a
one has been comforted in their sorrow by seeing a good dish come
upon the table.'

I
was rather glad that Martha's energy had taken the immediate and
practical direction of pudding-making, for it staved off the
quarrelsome discussion as to whether she should or should not leave
Miss Matty's service. She began to tie on a clean apron, and
otherwise prepare herself for going to the shop for the butter, eggs,
and what else she might require. She would not use a scrap of the
articles already in the house for her cookery, but went to an old
tea-pot in which her private store of money was deposited, and took
out what she wanted.

I
found Miss Matty very quiet, and not a little sad; but by-and-by she
tried to smile for my sake. It was settled that I was to write to my
father, and ask him to come over and hold a consultation, and as soon
as this letter was despatched we began to talk over future plans. Miss
Matty's idea was to take a single room, and retain as much of
her furniture as would be necessary to fit up this, and sell the
rest, and there to quietly exist upon what would remain after paying
the rent. For my part, I was more ambitious and less contented. I
thought of all the things by which a woman, past middle age, and with
the education common to ladies fifty years ago, could earn or add to
a living without materially losing caste; but at length I put even
this last clause on one side, and wondered what in the world Miss
Matty could do.

Teaching
was, of course, the first thing that suggested itself. If Miss Matty
could teach children anything, it would throw her among the little
elves in whom her soul delighted. I ran over her accomplishments. Once
upon a time I had heard her say she could play 'Ah! vous
dirai-je, maman?' on the piano, but that was long, long ago; that
faint shadow of musical acquirement had died out years before. She
had also once been able to trace out patterns very nicely for muslin
embroidery, by dint of placing a piece of silver paper over the
design to be copied, and holding both against the window-pane while
she marked the scollop and eyelet-holes. But that was her nearest
approach to the accomplishment of drawing, and I did not think it
would go very far. Then again, as to the branches of a solid English
education — fancy work and the use of the globes — such as the
mistress of the Ladies' Seminary, to which all the tradespeople in
Cranford sent their daughters, professed to teach. Miss Matty's eyes
were failing her, and I doubted if she could discover the number of
threads in a worsted-work pattern, or rightly appreciate the
different shades required for Queen Adelaide's face in the loyal
wool-work now fashionable in Cranford. As for the use of the globes,
I had never been able to find it out myself, so perhaps I was not a
good judge of Miss Matty's capability of instructing in this branch
of education; but it struck me that equators and tropics, and such
mystical circles, were very imaginary lines indeed to her, and that
she looked upon the signs of the Zodiac as so many remnants of the
Black Art.

What
she piqued herself upon, as arts in which she excelled, was making
candle-lighters, or 'spills' (as she preferred calling them), of
coloured paper, cut so as to resemble feathers, and knitting garters
in a variety of dainty stitches. I had once said, on receiving a
present of an elaborate pair, that I should feel quite tempted to
drop one of them in the street, in order to have it admired; but I
found this little joke (and it was a very little one) was such a
distress to her sense of propriety, and was taken with such anxious,
earnest alarm, lest the temptation might some day prove too strong
for me, that I quite regretted having ventured upon it. A present of
these delicately-wrought garters, a bunch of gay 'spills,' or a set
of cards on which sewing-silk was wound in a mystical manner, were
the well-known tokens of Miss Matty's favour. But would any one pay
to have their children taught these arts? or, indeed, would Miss
Matty sell, for filthy lucre, the knack and the skill with which she
made trifles of value to those who loved her?

I
had to come down to reading, writing, and arithmetic; and, in reading
the chapter every morning, she always coughed before coming to long
words. I doubted her power of getting through a genealogical
chapter, with any number of coughs. Writing she did well and
delicately — but spelling! She seemed to think that the more
out-of-the-way this was, and the more trouble it cost her, the
greater the compliment she paid to her correspondent; and words that
she would spell quite correctly in her letters to me became perfect
enigmas when she wrote to my father.

No!
there was nothing she could teach to the rising generation of
Cranford, unless they had been quick learners and ready imitators of
her patience, her humility, her sweetness, her quiet contentment with
all that she could not do. I pondered and pondered until dinner was
announced by Martha, with a face all blubbered and swollen with
crying.

There!

Miss
Matty had a few little peculiarities which Martha was apt to regard
as whims below her attention, and appeared to consider as childish
fancies of which an old lady of fifty-eight should try and cure
herself. But to-day everything was attended to with the most careful
regard. The bread was cut to the imaginary pattern of excellence
that existed in Miss Matty's mind, as being the way which her mother
had preferred, the curtain was drawn so as to exclude the dead brick
wall of a neighbour's stable, and yet left so as to show every tender
leaf of the poplar which was bursting into spring beauty. Martha's
tone to Miss Matty was just such as that good, rough-spoken servant
usually kept sacred for little children, and which I had never heard
her use to any grown-up person.

I
had forgotten to tell Miss Matty about the pudding, and I was afraid
she might not do justice to it, for she had evidently very little
appetite this day; so I seized the opportunity of letting her into
the secret while Martha took away the meat. Miss Matty's eyes filled
with tears, and she could not speak, either to express surprise or
delight, when Martha returned bearing it aloft, made in the most
wonderful representation of a lion couchant
that ever was moulded. Martha's face gleamed with triumph as she set
it down before Miss Matty with an exultant 'There!' Miss Matty
wanted to speak her thanks, but could not; so she took Martha's hand
and shook it warmly, which set Martha off crying, and I myself could
hardly keep up the necessary composure. Martha burst out of the
room, and Miss Matty had to clear her voice once or twice before she
could speak. At last she said, 'I should like to keep this pudding
under a glass shade, my dear!' and the notion of the lion couchant,
with his currant eyes, being hoisted up to the place of honour on a
mantelpiece, tickled my hysterical fancy, and I began to laugh, which
rather surprised Miss Matty.

'I
am sure, dear, I have seen uglier things under a glass shade before
now,' said she.

So
had I, many a time and oft, and I accordingly composed my countenance
(and now I could hardly keep from crying), and we both fell to upon
the pudding, which was indeed excellent — only every morsel seemed
to choke us, our hearts were so full.

We
had too much to think about to talk much that afternoon. It passed
over very tranquilly. But when the tea-urn was brought in a new
thought came into my head. Why should not Miss Matty sell tea — be
an agent to the East India Tea Company which then existed? I could
see no objections to this plan, while the advantages were many —
always supposing that Miss Matty could get over the degradation of
condescending to anything like trade. Tea was neither greasy nor
sticky — grease and stickiness being two of the qualities which
Miss Matty could not endure. No shop-window would be required. A
small, genteel notification of her being licensed to sell tea would,
it is true, be necessary, but I hoped that it could be placed where
no one would see it. Neither was tea a heavy article, so as to tax
Miss Matty's fragile strength. The only thing against my plan was
the buying and selling involved.

While
I was giving but absent answers to the questions Miss Matty was
putting — almost as absently — we heard a clumping sound on the
stairs, and a whispering outside the door, which indeed once opened
and shut as if by some invisible agency. After a little while Martha
came in, dragging after her a great tall young man, all crimson with
shyness, and finding his only relief in perpetually sleeking down his
hair.

He's
only Jem Hearn

'Please,
ma'am, he's only Jem Hearn,' said Martha, by way of an introduction;
and so out of breath was she that I imagine she had had some bodily
struggle before she could overcome his reluctance to be presented on
the courtly scene of Miss Matilda Jenkyns's drawing-room.

'And
please, ma'am, he wants to marry me off-hand. And please, ma'am, we
want to take a lodger — just one quiet lodger, to make our two ends
meet; and we'd take any house conformable; and, oh dear Miss Matty,
if I may be so bold, would you have any objections to lodging with
us? Jem wants it as much as I do.' [To Jem ] — 'You great oaf!
why can't you back me! — But he does want it all the same, very bad
— don't you, Jem? — only, you see, he's dazed at being called on
to speak before quality.'

'It's
not that,' broke in Jem. 'It's that you've taken me all on a sudden,
and I didn't think for to get married so soon — and such quick
words does flabbergast a man. It's not that I'm against it, ma'am'
(addressing Miss Matty), 'only Martha has such quick ways with her
when once she takes a thing into her head; and marriage, ma'am —
marriage nails a man, as one may say. I dare say I shan't mind it
after it's once over.'

'Please,
ma'am,' said Martha — who had plucked at his sleeve, and nudged him
with her elbow, and otherwise tried to interrupt him all the time he
had been speaking — 'don't mind him, he'll come to; 'twas only last
night he was an-axing me, and an-axing me, and all the more because I
said I could not think of it for years to come, and now he's only
taken aback with the suddenness of the joy; but you know, Jem, you
are just as full as me about wanting a lodger.' (Another great
nudge.)

'Ay!
if Miss Matty would lodge with us — otherwise I've no mind to be
cumbered with strange folk in the house,' said Jem, with a want of
tact which I could see enraged Martha, who was trying to represent a
lodger as the great object they wished to obtain, and that, in fact,
Miss Matty would be smoothing their path and conferring a favour, if
she would only come and live with them.

Miss
Matty herself was bewildered by the pair; their, or rather Martha's
sudden resolution in favour of matrimony staggered her, and stood
between her and the contemplation of the plan which Martha had at
heart. Miss Matty began —

'Marriage
is a very solemn thing, Martha.'

'It
is indeed, ma'am,' quoth Jem. 'Not that I've no objections to
Martha.'

'You've
never let me a-be for asking me for to fix when I would be married,'
said Martha — her face all a-fire, and ready to cry with vexation —
'and now you're shaming me before my missus and all.'

'Nay,
now! Martha don't ee! don't ee! only a man likes to have
breathing-time,' said Jem, trying to possess himself of her hand, but
in vain. Then seeing that she was more seriously hurt than he had
imagined, he seemed to try to rally his scattered faculties, and with
more straightforward dignity than, ten minutes before, I should have
thought it possible for him to assume, he turned to Miss Matty, and
said, 'I hope, ma'am, you know that I am bound to respect every one
who has been kind to Martha. I always looked on her as to be my wife
— some time; and she has often and often spoken of you as the
kindest lady that ever was; and though the plain truth is, I would
not like to be troubled with lodgers of the common run, yet if,
ma'am, you'd honour us by living with us, I'm sure Martha would do
her best to make you comfortable; and I'd keep out of your way as
much as I could, which I reckon would be the best kindness such an
awkward chap as me could do.'

Miss
Matty had been very busy with taking off her spectacles, wiping them,
and replacing them; but all she could say was, 'Don't let any thought
of me hurry you into marriage: pray don't. Marriage is such a very
solemn thing!'

'But
Miss Matilda will think of your plan, Martha,' said I, struck with
the advantages that it offered, and unwilling to lose the opportunity
of considering about it. 'And I'm sure neither she nor I can ever
forget your kindness; nor your's either, Jem.'

'Why,
yes, ma'am! I'm sure I mean kindly, though I'm a bit fluttered by
being pushed straight ahead into matrimony, as it were, and mayn't
express myself conformable. But I'm sure I'm willing enough, and
give me time to get accustomed; so, Martha, wench, what's the use of
crying so, and slapping me if I come near?'

This
last was sotto voce,
and had the effect of making Martha bounce out of the room, to be
followed and soothed by her lover. Whereupon Miss Matty sat down and
cried very heartily, and accounted for it by saying that the thought
of Martha being married so soon gave her quite a shock, and that she
should never forgive herself if she thought she was hurrying the poor
creature. I think my pity was more for Jem, of the two; but both
Miss Matty and I appreciated to the full the kindness of the honest
couple, although we said little about this, and a good deal about the
chances and dangers of matrimony.

Soothed
by her lover

The
next morning, very early, I received a note from Miss Pole, so
mysteriously wrapped up, and with so many seals on it to secure
secrecy, that I had to tear the paper before I could unfold it. And
when I came to the writing I could hardly understand the meaning, it
was so involved and oracular. I made out, however, that I was to go
to Miss Pole's at eleven o'clock; the number eleven
being written in full length as well as in numerals, and A.M. twice
dashed under, as if I were very likely to come at eleven at night,
when all Cranford was usually a-bed and asleep by ten. There was no
signature except Miss Pole's initials reversed, P.E.; but as Martha
had given me the note, 'with Miss Pole's kind regards,' it needed no
wizard to find out who sent it; and if the writer's name was to be
kept secret, it was very well that I was alone when Martha delivered
it.

I
went as requested to Miss Pole's. The door was opened to me by her
little maid Lizzy in Sunday trim, as if some grand event was
impending over this work-day. And the drawing-room upstairs was
arranged in accordance with this idea. The table was set out with
the best green card-cloth, and writing materials upon it. On the
little chiffonier was a tray with a newly-decanted bottle of cowslip
wine, and some ladies'-finger biscuits. Miss Pole herself was in
solemn array, as if to receive visitors, although it was only eleven
o'clock. Mrs Forrester was there, crying quietly and sadly, and my
arrival seemed only to call forth fresh tears. Before we had
finished our greetings, performed with lugubrious mystery of
demeanour, there was another rat-tat-tat, and Mrs Fitz-Adam appeared,
crimson with walking and excitement. It seemed as if this was all
the company expected; for now Miss Pole made several demonstrations
of being about to open the business of the meeting, by stirring the
fire, opening and shutting the door, and coughing and blowing her
nose. Then she arranged us all round the table, taking care to place
me opposite to her; and last of all, she inquired of me if the sad
report was true, as she feared it was, that Miss Matty had lost all
her fortune?

Mrs.
Fitz-Adam

Of
course, I had but one answer to make; and I never saw more unaffected
sorrow depicted on any countenances than I did there on the three
before me.

I
wish Mrs Jamieson was here!' said Mrs Forrester at last; but to judge
from Mrs Fitz-Adam's face, she could not second the wish.

'But
without Mrs Jamieson,' said Miss Pole, with just a sound of offended
merit in her voice, 'we, the ladies of Cranford, in my drawing-room
assembled, can resolve upon something. I imagine we are none of us
what may be called rich, though we all possess a genteel competency,
sufficient for tastes that are elegant and refined, and would not, if
they could, be vulgarly ostentatious.' (Here I observed Miss Pole
refer to a small card concealed in her hand, on which I imagine she
had put down a few notes.)

'Miss
Smith,' she continued, addressing me (familiarly known as 'Mary' to
all the company assembled, but this was a state occasion), 'I have
conversed in private — I made it my business to do so yesterday
afternoon — with these ladies on the misfortune which has happened
to our friend, and one and all of us have agreed that while we have a
superfluity, it is not only a duty, but a pleasure — a true
pleasure, Mary!' — her voice was rather choked just here, and she
had to wipe her spectacles before she could go on — 'to give what
we can to assist her — Miss Matilda Jenkyns. Only in consideration
of the feelings of delicate independence existing in the mind of
every refined female' — I was sure she had got back to the card now
— 'we wish to contribute our mites in a secret and concealed
manner, so as not to hurt the feelings I have referred to. And our
object in requesting you to meet us this morning is that, believing
you are the daughter — that your father is, in fact, her
confidential adviser, in all pecuniary matters, we imagined that, by
consulting with him, you might devise some mode in which our
contribution could be made to appear the legal due which Miss Matilda
Jenkyns ought to receive from — Probably your father, knowing her
investments, can fill up the blank.'

Miss
Pole concluded her address, and looked round for approval and
agreement.

'I
have expressed your meaning, ladies, have I not? And while Miss
Smith considers what reply to make, allow me to offer you some little
refreshment.'

I
had no great reply to make: I had more thankfulness at my heart for
their kind thoughts than I cared to put into words; and so I only
mumbled out something to the effect 'that I would name what Miss Pole
had said to my father, and that if anything could be arranged for
dear Miss Matty,' — and here I broke down utterly, and had to be
refreshed with a glass of cowslip wine before I could check the
crying which had been repressed for the last two or three days. The
worst was, all the ladies cried in concert. Even Miss Pole cried,
who had said a hundred times that to betray emotion before any one
was a sign of weakness and want of self-control. She recovered
herself into a slight degree of impatient anger, directed against me,
as having set them all off; and, moreover, I think she was vexed that
I could not make a speech back in return for hers; and if I had known
beforehand what was to be said, and had a card on which to express
the probable feelings that would rise in my heart, I would have tried
to gratify her. As it was, Mrs Forrester was the person to speak
when we had recovered our composure.

'I
don't mind, among friends, stating that I — no! I'm not poor
exactly, but I don't think I'm what you may call rich; I wish I were,
for dear Miss Matty's sake — but, if you please, I'll write down in
a sealed paper what I can give. I only wish it was more; my dear
Mary, I do indeed.'

Now
I saw why paper, pens, and ink were provided. Every lady wrote down
the sum she could give annually, signed the paper, and sealed it
mysteriously. If their proposal was acceded to, my father was to be
allowed to open the papers, under pledge of secrecy. If not, they
were to be returned to their writers.

When
the ceremony had been gone through, I rose to depart; but each lady
seemed to wish to have a private conference with me. Miss Pole kept
me in the drawing-room to explain why, in Mrs Jamieson's absence, she
had taken the lead in this 'movement,' as she was pleased to call it,
and also to inform me that she had heard from good sources that Mrs
Jamieson was coming home directly in a state of high displeasure
against her sister-in-law, who was forthwith to leave her house, and
was, she believed, to return to Edinburgh that very afternoon. Of
course this piece of intelligence could not be communicated before
Mrs Fitz-Adam, more especially as Miss Pole was inclined to think
that Lady Glenmire's engagement to Mr Hoggins could not possibly hold
against the blaze of Mrs Jamieson's displeasure. A few hearty
inquiries after Miss Matty's health concluded my interview with Miss
Pole.

On
coming downstairs I found Mrs Forrester waiting for me at the
entrance to the dining-parlour; she drew me in, and when the door was
shut, she tried two or three times to begin on some subject, which
was so unapproachable apparently, that I began to despair of our ever
getting to a clear understanding. At last out it came; the poor old
lady trembling all the time as if it were a great crime which she was
exposing to daylight, in telling me how very, very little she had to
live upon; a confession which she was brought to make from a dread
lest we should think that the small contribution named in her paper
bore any proportion to her love and regard for Miss Matty. And yet
that sum which she so eagerly relinquished was, in truth, more than a
twentieth part of what she had to live upon, and keep house, and a
little serving-maid, all as became one born a Tyrrell. And when the
whole income does not nearly amount to a hundred pounds, to give up a
twentieth of it will necessitate many careful economies, and many
pieces of self-denial, small and insignificant in the world's
account, but bearing a different value in another account-book that I
have heard of. She did so wish she was rich, she said, and this wish
she kept repeating, with no thought of herself in it, only with a
longing, yearning desire to be able to heap up Miss Matty's measure
of comforts.

It
was some time before I could console her enough to leave her; and
then, on quitting the house, I was waylaid by Mrs Fitz-Adam, who had
also her confidence to make of pretty nearly the opposite
description. She had not liked to put down all that she could afford
and was ready to give. She told me she thought she never could look
Miss Matty in the face again if she presumed to be giving her so much
as she should like to do. 'Miss Matty!' continued she, 'that I
thought was such a fine young lady when I was nothing but a country
girl, coming to market with eggs and butter and such like things. For
my father, though well-to-do, would always make me go on as my
mother had done before me, and I had to come into Cranford every
Saturday, and see after sales, and prices, and what not. And one
day, I remember, I met Miss Matty in the lane that leads to
Combehurst; she was walking on the footpath, which, you know, is
raised a good way above the road, and a gentleman rode beside her,
and was talking to her, and she was looking down at some primroses
she had gathered, and pulling them all to pieces, and I do believe
she was crying. But after she had passed, she turned round and ran
after me to ask — oh, so kindly — about my poor mother, who lay
on her death-bed; and when I cried she took hold of my hand to
comfort me — and the gentleman waiting for her all the time — and
her poor heart very full of something, I am sure; and I thought it
such an honour to be spoken to in that pretty way by the rector's
daughter, who visited at Arley Hall. I have loved her ever since,
though perhaps I'd no right to do it; but if you can think of any way
in which I might be allowed to give a little more without any one
knowing it, I should be so much obliged to you, my dear. And my
brother would be delighted to doctor her for nothing — medicines,
leeches, and all. I know that he and her ladyship (my dear, I little
thought in the days I was telling you of that I should ever come to
be sister-in-law to a ladyship!) would do anything for her. We all
would.'

I
told her I was quite sure of it, and promised all sorts of things in
my anxiety to get home to Miss Matty, who might well be wondering
what had become of me — absent from her two hours without being
able to account for it. She had taken very little note of time,
however, as she had been occupied in numberless little arrangements
preparatory to the great step of giving up her house. It was
evidently a relief to her to be doing something in the way of
retrenchment, for, as she said, whenever she paused to think, the
recollection of the poor fellow with his bad five-pound note came
over her, and she felt quite dishonest; only if it made her so
uncomfortable, what must it not be doing to the directors of the
bank, who must know so much more of the misery consequent upon this
failure? She almost made me angry by dividing her sympathy between
these directors (whom she imagined overwhelmed by self-reproach for
the mismanagement of other people's affairs) and those who were
suffering like her. Indeed, of the two, she seemed to think poverty
a lighter burden than self-reproach; but I privately doubted if the
directors would agree with her.

Old
hoards were taken out and examined as to their money value which
luckily was small, or else I don't know how Miss Matty would have
prevailed upon herself to part with such things as her mother's
wedding-ring, the strange, uncouth brooch with which her father had
disfigured his shirt-frill, &c. However, we arranged things a
little in order as to their pecuniary estimation, and were all ready
for my father when he came the next morning.

I
am not going to weary you with the details of all the business we
went through; and one reason for not telling about them is, that I
did not understand what we were doing at the time, and cannot
recollect it now. Miss Matty and I sat assenting to accounts, and
schemes, and reports, and documents, of which I do not believe we
either of us understood a word; for my father was clear-headed and
decisive, and a capital man of business, and if we made the slightest
inquiry, or expressed the slightest want of comprehension, he had a
sharp way of saying, 'Eh? eh? it's as dear as daylight. What's your
objection?' And as we had not comprehended anything of what he had
proposed, we found it rather difficult to shape our objections; in
fact, we never were sure if we had any. So presently Miss Matty got
into a nervously acquiescent state, and said 'Yes,' and 'Certainly,'
at every pause, whether required or not; but when I once joined in as
chorus to a 'Decidedly,' pronounced by Miss Matty in a tremblingly
dubious tone, my father fired round at me and asked me 'What there
was to decide?' And I am sure to this day I have never known. But,
in justice to him, I must say he had come over from Drumble to help
Miss Matty when he could ill spare the time, and when his own affairs
were in a very anxious state.

While
Miss Matty was out of the room giving orders for luncheon — and
sadly perplexed between her desire of honouring my father by a
delicate, dainty meal, and her conviction that she had no right, now
that all her money was gone, to indulge this desire — I told him of
the meeting of the Cranford ladies at Miss Pole's the day before. He
kept brushing his hand before his eyes as I spoke — and when I went
back to Martha's offer the evening before, of receiving Miss Matty as
a lodger, he fairly walked away from me to the window, and began
drumming with his fingers upon it. Then he turned abruptly round,
and said, 'See, Mary, how a good, innocent life makes friends all
around. Confound it! I could make a good lesson out of it if I were
a parson; but, as it is, I can't get a tail to my sentences — only
I'm sure you feel what I want to say. You and I will have a walk
after lunch and talk a bit more about these plans.'

Drumming
with his fingers upon it

The
lunch — a hot savoury mutton-chop, and a little of the cold loin
sliced and fried — was now brought in. Every morsel of this last
dish was finished, to Martha's great gratification. Then my father
bluntly told Miss Matty he wanted to talk to me alone, and that he
would stroll out and see some of the old places, and then I could
tell her what plan we thought desirable. Just before we went out,
she called me back and said, 'Remember, dear, I'm the only one left —
I mean, there's no one to be hurt by what I do. I'm willing to do
anything that's right and honest; and I don't think, if Deborah knows
where she is, she'll care so very much if I'm not genteel; because,
you see, she'll know all, dear. Only let me see what I can do, and
pay the poor people as far as I'm able.'

I
gave her a hearty kiss, and ran after my father. The result of our
conversation was this. If all parties were agreeable, Martha and Jem
were to be married with as little delay as possible, and they were to
live on in Miss Matty's present abode; the sum which the Cranford
ladies had agreed to contribute annually being sufficient to meet the
greater part of the rent, and leaving Martha free to appropriate what
Miss Matty should pay for her lodgings to any little extra comforts
required. About the sale, my father was dubious at first. He said
the old rectory furniture, however carefully used and reverently
treated, would fetch very little; and that little would be but as a
drop in the sea of the debts of the Town and County Bank. But when I
represented how Miss Matty's tender conscience would be soothed by
feeling that she had done what she could, he gave way; especially
after I had told him the five-pound note adventure, and he had
scolded me well for allowing it. I then alluded to my idea that she
might add to her small income by selling tea; and, to my surprise
(for I had nearly given up the plan), my father grasped at it with
all the energy of a tradesman. I think he reckoned his chickens
before they were hatched, for he immediately ran up the profits of
the sales that she could effect in Cranford to more than twenty
pounds a year. The small dining-parlour was to be converted into a
shop, without any of its degrading characteristics; a table was to be
the counter; one window was to be retained unaltered, and the other
changed into a glass door. I evidently rose in his estimation for
having made this bright suggestion. I only hoped we should not both
fall in Miss Matty's.

But
she was patient and content with all our arrangements. She knew, she
said, that we should do the best we could for her; and she only
hoped, only stipulated, that she should pay every farthing that she
could be said to owe, for her father's sake, who had been so
respected in Cranford. My father and I had agreed to say as little
as possible about the bank, indeed never to mention it again, if it
could be helped. Some of the plans were evidently a little
perplexing to her; but she had seen me sufficiently snubbed in the
morning for want of comprehension to venture on too many inquiries
now; and all passed over well with a hope on her part that no one
would be hurried into marriage on her account. When we came to the
proposal that she should sell tea, I could see it was rather a shock
to her; not on account of any personal loss of gentility involved,
but only because she distrusted her own powers of action in a new
line of life, and would timidly have preferred a little more
privation to any exertion for which she feared she was unfitted.
However, when she saw my father was bent upon it, she sighed, and
said she would try; and if she did not do well, of course she might
give it up. One good thing about it was, she did not think men ever
bought tea; and it was of men particularly she was afraid. They had
such sharp loud ways with them; and did up accounts, and counted
their change so quickly! Now, if she might only sell comfits to
children, she was sure she could please them!